


That's Not How This Works

by AvianAtrocities



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Buddy Cop Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Pining, Slow Burn, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:44:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8389456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvianAtrocities/pseuds/AvianAtrocities
Summary: A collection of drabbles I'll be updating periodically. Centered on the relationship of our forgotten fiends, Jadaar and Asric.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> and i said hey yeh yeh yeh yeh

_Eversong would be warm this time of year_ , Asric thinks to himself, then laughs bitterly. Eversong is always warm.

Icecrown, on the other end of the spectrum, is always freezing.

He sits under one of the bleachers set up along side the tournament building, using them both as windbreakers, though it doesn’t stop his teeth from chattering together and the hairs on his arms from rising up into little goosebumps.

So, maybe he was a little under dressed.

Shattrath wasn’t cold, a little on the muggy or misty side, depending on the time of year, and Dalaran hadn’t been much of an issue, other than the stench of the sewers and the occasional gust of hot air caused by fledgling fire mages. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t exactly have the wardrobe for this sort of absolutely deplorable weather.

He gave a tuffet of snow a kick to show his distaste. That’d teach it a lesson.

There wasn’t anything to do at the moment, with what little freelancing he could find already taken care of for the day, so he dedicated himself to sulking and daydreaming of more pleasant climates.

Heavy steps treading on dirty snow and gravel roused him from his shivering idleness. The sound was warning enough, he knew the weight and click of those hooves.

“What are you doing down there?” Asked a familiar blue face peering through the slats of the bleachers.

“Failing in my quest for solitude,” Asric snapped back, feeling only a little guilt about his temperament. Dalaran had been somewhat of a breakthrough with their strange companionship, after the initial quarrels and squabbles, they had warmed up to each other over their shared misfortunes and mugs of ale. That warmth had been suddenly sapped from him by the chill winds of Northrend.

Jadaar either didn’t care or didn’t notice his hostility, and took a seat on the bottom row of the bleachers.

“I hear that the innkeeper threw you out,” the Draenei mentioned, and Asric’s ears wilted.

“She tried to give me the room closest to the stables,” he began his explanation as he drew up as high as he dared beneath the wooden seats. “I told her I wouldn’t suffer the indignity. If I have to pay such a ridiculous fee for a room that reeks of droppings, I’d rather–”

“Sleep outside in the snow?” Jadaar cut him off with a snort.

“You’re welcome to join me, I could speak to your innkeeper as well.” The elf snipped back as he shuffled out from under the bleachers, then gave out a groan as he stood up and stretched.

“I know it’s against your nature, but if you’re going to keep being an insufferable brat, I’ll be forced to drink all this hot mead by myself.” The Draenei replied flatly, “Not that I would mind.”

He couldn’t feel his ears straighten due to the bloody cold, but he sniffed and brushed snow from the seat of his pants before taking a seat next to his companion.

“Your nose is running,” Jadaar observed as he passed the elf a steaming mug.

Asric bit back a retort, and instead wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

The heat seeping through the mug brought back some semblance of feeling into his fingers and a little bit of warmth back into his heart.

“Thank you,” was all he could muster.

“You’re hardly dressed for the snow,” Jadaar grumbled, taking a swig of mead. “I’d remind you of your incompetence, but I’m sure you’re already wallowing in it.”

Asric responded with a grunt into mug. Mead was a dwarvish drink, heady with the taste of honey. He hadn’t tasted any since the Second War, and it brought back the faint echoes of simpler times. Not simpler by much, but simpler nonetheless. At least back then he wasn’t stuck with an overbearing oaf of a Draenei and the terrible mixed bag of feelings that came with him.

A sudden warmth draped over his shoulders and Asric looked up from his drink in confusion.

“Keep this until you find something more fitting to wear,” Jadaar ordered, big hands securing his cape around the smaller elf.

A flood of emotions hit Asric like the innkeeper had earlier; haughty indignation, a warm thrill of happiness, and the cold fear of knowing exactly what that last feeling meant. Blood rushed to his ears and he forced out, “As much as I adore inconveniencing you, don’t you need it?”

“It didn’t fit me,” Jadaar said flatly, returning to his drink and leaving it at that.

“As if anything ever fits you,” the elf mutters back. But he pulls the cloak tighter around his shoulders and basks in the relief that it brings. It’s not much in this cold, but it’s better than nothing. It smells like Jadaar and his stomach flips into a defiant knot.

Asric brews over his mead as the silence fills the air, only broken by the cry of the crowd and the sounds of jousting from a few dozen yards off.

“ _Thanks_ ,” he finally ventures.

Jadaar makes a point of turning that perpetually harsh frown of his into a faint smile.

Asric hates the way that makes his chest ache and he spits, “You overgrown buffoon.”

“Spoiled brat.”

“Trepid excuse of a goat.”

“Spindly little mite of an elf.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insufferable agony, that's what this is.

_You've been down this hole before_ , he chides himself.

He's laying in a creaky cot in one of the back rooms of The Cantrip and Crows, enjoying what little time he has to himself.

Or at least trying to enjoy it.

He throws the crumbled ball of parchment back up in the air, then catches it noiselessly before it hits his palm, levitating it just above his twirling fingertips.

It's a half-hearted poem, a sort of writ filled with nonsense from a lonely heart.

It's definitely not a love letter.

Definitely not.

His fingers curl forcefully in towards his palm and the mistake goes up in arcane flame. He brushes the ash from his stomach and onto the floor, scowling at the water stains in the ceiling.

How long has it been now? A year? Two? He doesn't even know when this blight upon his senses began. If he was being honest, (and ha! - he never is!), it probably went as far back as their first week working together.

 _These sort of things never end well,_ he reminds himself.

He liked women, he loved men, he was fond of those who fell in-between or outside. Women were easier because he was a man, men were harder _because_ he was a man, others were just hit or miss depending on their opinion of gingers.

And that was just on the subject of casual encounters.

So what did he want from Jadaar then? More than casual?

A life together beyond the dreadful chill and sharp tongues? Something sweet and warm, maybe permanent...?

A Draenei with a Sin'dorei?

He laughed. Bitterly.

He doesn't know much of Draenic culture, not sure how they treat or view couples of the same gender. There's too many cultures on Azeroth and he can hardly keep up with his own.

He didn't fancy the hard glare and heavy fists that came from those who didn't approve of his sort.

He didn't think he could handle that if it came from Jadaar.

Or maybe he would be fine with that particular kind of thing. But he'd laugh because he's Asric. Asric the fool of an elf.

He didn't know which would hurt more.

He hated the way he longed for Jadaar's rare smile, the accidental touches, the way the oaf laughed so heartily at the perfectly timed quip.

Maybe he should just squash the budding affection now and leave it at that. What they had now wasn't so bad, especially compared to before.

But he ached for more.

The odds weren't in his favor, and while he was clever, love was a magic that continued to elude him.

He stares at the stained wood, briefly hoping that it wasn't seepage from the sewers.

Damn Jadaar. It's all his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick something while I work on other somethings.

**Author's Note:**

> ill probably add another chapter in a week or so, depending on Life


End file.
